Princess Princess
by Paper Lilly Webs
Summary: Karkat speeds up his pace a step once he catches sight of a familiar head of blonde hair, biting back a full grin as he slips his hand into Dave's and stands on his toes to plant a kiss to the now-beaming blonde. "Buona sera, bionda."


**A/N**: There is some butchered French in here, be warned. I think I'm pretty solid on the Italian, but if not, let me know. (For anyone wondering, I am very aware it is not a French term to call someone _Sweet Cheeks_; that is just Dave being a dork to piss off Karkat.

Karkat is wearing a skirt in this, and no one should mind. It is not fetishized, nor used as a humor plot point.

_Extra Notes_:  
Karkat is Italian living in Venice, and Dave is a French exchange student, John is Dave's host family, and the world is strangely okay with everyone wearing skirts regardless of anything and are not fetishized. As it should be.

Zeppole are deep-fried pastry balls often filled with sweets such as strawberry cream or chocolate. I made up the festival of lights for this, though I'm sure something similar has been practiced.

Translations for French and Italian are in the bottom

This story is for a good friend of mine.

~Webs

* * *

He tugs the silky fabric up over his hips easily, smiling just a little at the feel and pulling on his black band-tee over it before he goes to yank a comb through his hair. He honestly hates having to tame his hair, but Dave says he likes to run his fingers through it, and it's hard to do that when it's all ratty. He doesn't mind brushing it to please him, but he still grumbles in front of his mirror.

Glancing at the clock, he grumbles louder and grabs his phone, stuffing it in his skirt pocket before quickly leaving your apartment, locking the door behind him and taking the steps several at a time to reach the bottom quicker. Once on the street, he sticks his hands in his pockets, allowing a small smile to touch his lips as he looks above himself at the multicolored fairy-lights strung between buildings for the Summer Light Festival. The air is warm, with only a little bit of a breeze, making Karkat's exposed legs tingle just a little bit.

People crowd the streets despite the latening of the hour, families pulling children to the plethora of vendors lining the street, shouting their fantastical wears to anyone who will listen. Karkat's entire mood lifts with the crowds', the euphoria of mellow Italian air quickly infecting him.

The streets are lit with lanterns and the fairy-lights, causing everything to reflect the spirit of the festival, an unwavering sense of happiness. Karkat speeds up his pace a step once he catches sight of a familiar head of blonde hair, biting back a full grin as he slips his hand into Dave's and stands on his toes to plant a kiss to the now-beaming blonde. "Buona sera, bionda." Dave returns the quick kiss to Karkat's lips.

"Bonsoir vous, peu mignon," he responds in easy French, Karkat only smiling more at the foreign language. He presses several more kisses to the corners of Dave's mouth before starting to lead him further into the festival.

Dave follows eagerly, squeezing tightly to Karkat's hand as he tilts his head to to the side to inspect the black, flowy, knee-length skirt his boyfriend had chosen for the night. "S'that a new one?" he inquires, speeding up to trot next to Karkat, who nods and weaves their fingers together.

"Kanya said I needed some shorter ones, but I don't like the ones they sell in stores." He spins just a little, smiling at the loose feeling. "'Sides, this one's made perfectly for me, yeah?"

"I'll say," he chuckles, pulling Karkat close to himself to press a kiss to his temple. "She should make you more; they really suit you. How about a red one?" Karkat wrinkles up his nose.

"Nah, I like black." Tugging at the hem of Karkat's shirt just a little, Dave snorts.

"I can see that." Karkat waves him off with a grumble.

"So rude. Maybe I'll just go back to shorts."

"Hey, not that I'm complaining about wearing shorts, but you do look really nice in skirts," he assures quietly, smiling and nuzzling his neck sweetly. Karkat relaxes a little, grinning and kissing in his jaw in return.

"Good, 'cause I'm not going to stop." Dave pecks his nose once before pulling away and spinning him around to peck his lips as well.

"So, where to next, principessa?" After taking a moment to giggle at Dave's butchered Italian, he pulls away completely aside from their hands, and starts tugging him through the crowds again.

"They're selling Zeppole down by the canal," he says as he pulls him along, grinning again. "Strawberry-filled." Dave snorts and shakes his head, waving at a passing friend from school.

"What's with you and strawberries, anyway?" Karkat shrugs.

"They're delicious." As they near the Grand Canal, Karkat allows them to slow down a bit so they're not running into people forming the thickening crowd, the native Italian easily scoping out the quickest route to the choice Zeppole stand.

"I take it I'm paying?" Dave laughs as Karkat pauses to look at him hopefully.

"I didn't bring my wallet, so, yeah."

"Wow, nice." Karkat thanks him with a kiss to the cheek as he heads up to the cart, getting two Strawberry Zeppoles, Karkat quickly snatching one from his hands and eating half of it in one go. He makes a pleased noise, ignoring Dave's laugh and snide remark about being a dork.

"I'm your dork," he retorts lamely, smudging Dave's nose with a bit of whipped cream from the top of his treat.

"Yes, you are." He laughs from deep in his chest, making Karkat fidget from where he is, still not quite able to describe how much he loves that laugh. He leans up on his toes to lick the cream from Dave's nose before the blonde can wipe it away, Dave smiling and pulling him close again, one arm around his waist while the other holds his Zeppole aloft. "I'd really love to keep it that way," he whispers, lips inches from Karkat's, before kissing him open-mouthed.

Karkat indulges in the kiss for a long moment before pulling away and stuffing the rest of his pastry in his mouth, grinning up at Dave with powdered sugar all over his lips. Dave licks quickly at it before kissing him again once. "Oh mon dieu, crétin," he whispers with a kiss to his cheek.

"I don't know what that means, Dave," Karkat protests, pouting.

"I guess you'll just have to learn French, then," he teases and finishes his own Zepolle as he releases Karkat. "Is there anything else you wanted to do?"

"Gondalas?" he asks hopefully. Dave quickly shakes his head.

"No, we do that all the time. I'll take you out for lunch on friday for that, okay?" Karkat pouts up at him, but Dave doesn't waver.

"Nope, sorry, joues douces." Karkat huffs and cross his arms to look away, only allowing Dave to wrap an arm around his shoulder because he likes leaning on him.

"Why don't we go back to my place for a bit, then come back out later?" He turns his head to look up at Dave, who smirks to hide his eyes lighting up.

"Fuck yeah, no way am I going to pass that up." Snorting through his nose, Karkat starts leading the way back.

"But no more French."

"But then I can't say nastily dirty things to you without people knowing," he whines.

"Too bad." Dave flails around for a moment before Karkat tugs him into the hidden door to his apartment, pushing him against the worn black wood as he starts kissing the breath out of him.

With a small groan, Dave pulls him closer and kisses him back, before pulling away just enough to whisper into his ear. "Je vais faire des choses absolument innommables pour vous."

"I said no more French," Karkat grumbles.

"Princess," he quips sourly.

* * *

_Buona sera, bionda_  
Good evening, blonde.  
_Bonsoir vous, peu mignon_  
Hello you, little cute (Cutie doesn't translate, I'm so sorry T^T)  
_Oh mon dieu, crétin._  
Oh my god, you moron.  
_joues douces_  
Sweet cheeks.  
_Je vais faire des choses absolument innommables pour vous._  
I'm going to do absolutely unspeakable things to you.


End file.
